Touched with Sight (Shadow Thane) Read online

  Fucking hell.

  “Take your seats,” he said, in the same harsh tone as before. “Quickly, quickly—we've already wasted fifteen minutes.” Never mind that he had been the one responsible for wasting them.

  “He's finally snapped,” one boy whispered to his seatmate, who nodded solemnly in agreement.

  Mr. Hauberk's face was the color of a gooseberry, which made the purple veins in his neck and forehead stand out in stark relief. It really did look like he'd snapped. Or was on the verge of apoplexy.

  “Somebody,” he said, once they were all seated, “I don't know who, but somebody broke into this classroom last night and stole the specimens that were going to be used in today's lesson!”

  There were some gasps at this, even a few appreciative murmurs. Mr. Hauberk stared them all into respectful silence.

  “I'm not going to go into how dangerous that was. I know—I hope—all of you are aware that this place is not a playground. That there are reasons you are not allowed into this room unless an instructor or lab assistant is present. This—” his eyes swept over the room “—is a very serious offense. Theft is never a crime to be taken lightly and Principal Avers and I both agree that such behavior is completely unacceptable at Barton. This means expulsion.”

  Gods forbid, thought Catherine.

  The class was absolutely silent now. For the first time, Mr. Hauberk had finally gotten what he'd been asking for since the beginning of the year: their complete and undivided attention.

  “We have gathered some evidence that points to a few select names. That is why we are asking anyone who knows anything about this…this crime—anything at all—to come forward.”

  Catherine didn't miss the look Hauberk shot in her direction, though she wasn't sure if it was because he thought she was the guilty party or he was annoyed that she didn't appear to be paying attention.

  She continued doodling in her notebook, avoiding his eyes, wary but mostly unconcerned. This part about evidence sounded alarming, but it was strictly standard procedure. Operation Last Hope.

  But she forgot how to breathe when Johnathon Ramsey raised his hand. He wouldn't—

  “Yes?” Mr. Hauberk asked, too eagerly.

  “I was just wondering, sir, does this mean we get to leave class early?”

  Nervous giggles ensued. Catherine released the breath she'd been holding in. Her heart was pounding so loudly that it was all she could hear.

  Mr. Hauberk looked crushed. “No. In lieu of the vivisection we are going to have a pop quiz on meiosis. You will remember this from last week's lecture and lab, I hope.”

  Ellen raised her hand. “I'm sorry, Mr. Hauberk, but since we've all been focusing on anatomy this past week this quiz seems a little unfair. Especially since some of us still haven't gotten to take our make-ups for the last quiz,” she added pointedly.

  “If you'll recall the syllabus—Miss…Pilchard, isn't it?—paragraph three clearly states, and I quote, 'Students are responsible for taking and reviewing lecture notes. All material covered in class is fair game.' And might I remind you—all of you—that your final is cumulative and will cover chapters one through twenty. If you cannot retain the highlights of the material discussed the week before, this does not bode well for your final grade.”

  He paused a heartbeat before adding, “Unless someone would like to come forward?”

  Blackmail…is that even allowed?

  Sure enough, Mr. Hauberk started writing on the board in his messy scrawl and said, “Clear your desks off except for one piece of paper and a pen or pencil. This is a pop quiz. You may work in small groups of two or three. Latecomers will work alone. Names on the back, please.”

  Catherine's seatmate, a pretty girl named Christina, was already frantically scribbling away.

  Fuck this. “Let's be partners?”

  “Um.” Christina gave her a once-over. “Sure, if you want.” She didn't sound very enthusiastic about the idea. “What do you think the answer to number one is? True or false?”

  She hadn't even looked at the questions yet. “False.”

  Christina looked at her and wrote down “true.”

  Bitch.

  There was a loud slam and the door swung open.

  Chase walked into the room, accompanied by his sinister entourage. Mr. Hauberk couldn't see the shades surrounding him, of course, and merely sighed. “Thank you for deigning to join us, Mr. Hill.”

  Chase opened his mouth, undoubtedly to say something witty, and tripped over the recycling bin.

  Several students snickered and nudged each other. Mr. Hauberk closed his eyes. “Please take your seat silently. We are in the middle of a pop quiz.”

  “What about number five?” Christina was asking. “I think the answer's centromeres, don't you?”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  Across the room, Karen Shields had stopped writing. Her pen was frozen in her hand as she stared at Chase. Blue eyes wide in disbelief, she was completely oblivious to her partners' whispered protests that time was running out and they still hadn't gotten down the answer to question number four. She looked a question at Catherine.

  You see them, too?

  Catherine let her head drop slightly, as if she were dozing off.

  “Hey!” Christina demanded. “What the hell are you doing? Pay attention.”

  Karen's face darkened. For one tense moment, Catherine thought the female witch would attack her. She bristled, and Predator ran circles beneath her skin, her claws teasing the undersides of Catherine's nails. We need to talk, Karen mouthed, before turning back to her paper.

  Catherine stiffened in her seat. That was the last thing she needed.

  “Time's up. Please hand your papers up to the front.”

  Christina gave her a dirty look as she passed up their quiz. “Thanks for nothing, partner,” she whispered. “See if I work with you again.”

  Catherine turned to look at her slowly and the other girl buried herself in her textbook, hiding behind it as if it were one of those Japanese folding screens. That's more like it.

  Over the shuffling sound of the papers being passed up and notebooks opening—nearly deafening in this quiet classroom to Catherine's hypersensitive ears—Mr. Hauberk opened up his master copy and began lecturing at them.

  Catherine pretended to absorb herself in what the teacher was saying, playing the role of the good, attentive student for once. He was saying something about sympathetic nervous systems (as opposed to the unsympathetic kind, she supposed). She nodded thoughtfully at every fullstop, but didn't take in a single word he said. No, she was too busy pretending not to notice Karen's eyes boring into her back. What on earth did that witch want to talk to her about?

  David's ghostly warning rang in her ears.

  Don't get on her radar screen. She and her family don't take rule-breaking lightly.

  But thinking about David was a mistake, just one more thing to concern her.

  When the bell rang, Catherine shot out of her seat, startling the people sitting around her. Before she could escape, though, Mr. Hauberk said, “Catherine? Could you come up here?”

  Fuck. Busted.

  She forced herself to walk the very long distance to the front of the room, head held high. If she didn't look guilty, then she wasn't guilty. Humans were heavily reliant upon body language, and she could feign as well as any actor. With each step, though, her heels seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the floor.

  Don't get on her radar screen. Don't catch her attention.

  “Yes, Mr. Hauberk?” She was proud of herself. Her voice sounded flip, haughty.

  He handed her a thin stack of papers. Slips for my expulsion?

  “Please give these to David Tran.”

  David was being expelled?

  Her confusion must have been obvious because Mr. Hauberk added, slightly impatiently, “It's today's homework. You're his lab partner, so I assume you have some means of getting this to him, yes?”

  Relief washed
through her. She was safe. David's goody-goody nature had provided the perfect foil. “Yeah, okay.” She took the papers from him, and he winced when she folded them clumsily.

  “It isn't like David to have an unexcused absence,” Mr. Hauberk mused. “I hope he's all right.”

  “I'm sure he's fine, sir,” she said, more to comfort herself than the teacher. David's never played truant.

  Mr. Hauberk gave a little start, caught himself, and said, “Thank you. Now run along, Miss Pierce. Unless you would like to discuss your startling lack of participation in this course?”

  “No thanks,” she said flatly.

  “Or perhaps you know something about last night's break-in?”

  “I know it saved me a shitload of work.”

  He didn't really think it was her. He thought she was too stupid. Most of the humans here did.

  Mr. Hauberk sighed. “Go home, Catherine.”

  She waved the folded sheaves in a flip salute. He didn't have to tell her twice.

  She did wonder how she was going to get the homework to David without his parents crucifying her. She hadn't seen Mr. and Mrs. Tran for almost three years and they had always regarded her as a sort of prodigal child, even back when they had no choice but to like her.

  Knowing David, he'd probably already told his parents that the two of them were friends again. He'd always been honest. Especially when it would have been better to lie. Unless he decided to weasel out to avoid confrontation. That was the one thing he liked less than lying. Confrontation.

  Hell, if the Trans didn't greet her at the door with a sawed-off shotgun loaded with silver slugs, she'd consider the drop-off a success.

  She almost didn't see Chase standing in front of the door. She smelled him before she saw him, and even then, nearly bowled right into his chest. The thought of touching him made her shudder. He was wearing frayed gym shorts and a scuffed leather jacket that reeked of BO.

  There were still a few shades lingering around him. All of them were looking at her, and this iced Catherine over with a frosty layer of fear that seemed to crystallize in her lungs, and make it harder to breathe. “Did you want something?” she said coldly. “If not, could you move? I'm kind of in a rush.”

  “I don't,” he said, and it took her a moment to realize he was responding to her original question. “But Grayson Coleman might. He's, uh, got it in for you.”

  “A lot of people have it in for me. It's practically a school sport. Why has he joined the team?”

  “Oh, yeah. I, uh, heard about the car accident.” He gave her a simpering look. “Sorry.”

  She gritted her teeth. “It wasn't an 'accident.' Someone tried to run me down.”

  Chase ignored this. “That's not all I've heard. Someone said you jumped on top of that truck like you thought you were, uh, Wonder Woman or something. They said your hand actually made a dent in the, uh, roof when you jumped.”

  She laughed. It sounded fake, even to her own ears. “Bull-fucking-shit.”

  “The first time that car hit you, you, uh, supposedly disappeared. One minute you were standing there. The next minute—” he spread his hands wide “—poof. In the air. Can you explain that?”

  Catherine remembered being so sure that the car was going to hit her, remembered bracing her body for the bone-shattering impact that never came. Remembered how the air had grown hot, as if it were blowing up in her face. Remembered the pungent, acrid smell of ozone stinging her nostrils as it mingled with the scent of gasoline and burnt rubber.

  “I don't know,” she said. “Magic?” And then winced.

  Chase seemed to think she was being sarcastic. “That's not what I wanted to see you about, though. You were, uh, supposed to come to the Sterling Rep meeting last night. Your boss called on Tuesday and said she was sending a teen representative down. I guess she, uh, meant you.”

  “So you are in Sterling Rep.” Sharon would be pleased to know she hadn't stayed away from her precious Mr. Bordello for nothing.

  “I'm treasurer,” he said with pride.

  “Good for you.” One of the shades was standing so close to her that she could have reached out and touched it. She shivered, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her coat just in case morbid curiosity got the better of her.

  She looked over his shoulder, trying to see if Karen was waiting outside, but the windows were too small and too grimy to tell. Chase was still looking at her expectantly. “Sorry I'm fresh out of gold stars.”

  “We had a welcoming reception planned and everything. Grayson Coleman is our president. He's the one who organized it all, so he took it personally when you didn't show.” Chase gave her a look that made her want to punch him. “Frankly, we think you have the wrong attitude.”

  “Any teacher could have told you that.” She shrugged. “I'm sorry I missed the meeting and hurt your little feely-weels okay? Something came up. I got busy. Can I go now?”

  Chase didn't budge. “Doing?”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “Pierce! Hill!” Mr. Hauberk barked. “My classroom is not a place for socializing. Take it outside.”

  They glared at each other. Then, with unnecessary slowness, Chase stepped out of her path.

  “There's another meeting next week,” he called. “Maybe you should, uh, show up this time.”

  Catherine gave him the finger without looking back. She didn't have time for these games. She had to get out of here before the witch could—

  “Meeting?” a cool voice inquired, shattering her train of thought and filling her heart with dread. “And what meeting might that be, Catherine Pierce?”

  Chapter Two

  Catherine whirled around to see Karen leaning against the wall of the science building, looking as if she'd just stepped off the pages of a European fashion magazine in her designer jeans and expensive top. This made Catherine resentfully aware of her own tatty appearance.

  It also reminded her why she hated witches.

  As if I needed reminding.

  “Why is everyone so interested in my personal life all of a sudden?”

  Karen smiled, revealing small sharp teeth. “Maybe because you're running with the wrong crowd, Catherine Pierce.”

  Catherine shot her a very ugly look. “Stop saying my name like that.”

  Karen laughed, and before Catherine was fully aware of what was happening, she found herself being dragged into the girls' restroom by her coattails.

  Where no one will see what she's about to do to us, said Prey.

  Catherine broke free only to stagger backwards with a sudden familiar weakness. Silver. She has silver. “The hell are you doing? Get your filthy hands off me! You're breaking the truce!”

  The fact that Karen didn't even bother speaking up in her defense said volumes.

  Catherine's cries and snarls echoed brightly off the bathroom tiles, but no one came running, so she stopped. She would not look weak in front of this witch. But that didn't mean she wasn't concerned.

  I'm in big trouble if she's used a glamor to shield the place.

  “Let—me—go, you bitch!”

  With a grunt, the witch shoved her against the bathroom wall. Thin curls of mist circled her wrists, as her flailing limbs were caught in a current that she could neither see nor feel. Catherine tugged at her arms, but the wispy bonds were as hard and impenetrable as steel. “Get this crap off me!”

  Karen slapped her—hard. “Shut up, you little fool!”

  Catherine stared at her, shocked and furious, as her cheek pulsed where Karen's hand had likely left its reddish imprint.

  Karen took a deep breath, and continued speaking, quieter this time but no less angrily.

  “You really are a fool. Of course, I've come to expect that from your kind—you certainly didn't win the War through your ingenious stratagems—” her laughter sounded off the disinfected tiles like a silver bell “—but you—you have exceeded all expectation.”

  “Yeah, well, I aim to please. What
is this shi—”

  “You aim to destroy everything the Council has been trying to achieve these last hundred years.”

  “That's a lot of asses to shove sticks into,” Catherine said. “You must be pretty busy.”

  “At least David knows his place. You are completely out of line. Changing in public. Hanging out with known Slayers. Possessing black magic. My parents would—” she broke off again, perhaps realizing she was undermining her own authority.

  Or maybe she'd noticed the sneer forming on Catherine's face.

  “—what was that just now? What are your dealings with that boy? Why is he inviting you to meetings?”

  Catherine's head was spinning faster than a top. Known Slayers? What was this bitch talking about? She didn't know any slayers. Unless…

  Karen leaned into her face. “Well?”

  “Get out of my face.”

  “Answer the question first.”

  She wouldn't dare, Catherine thought. Not if I weren't bound. “Those were shades. Ghosts of the departed. Can't move on to the next life so they're stuck here and pissed about it—something they and I have in common right now,” she added, in a snarl. “And that boy is Chase. We don't have dealings. He just stalks me. I'm popular like that.”

  “Must be your charming personality,” Karen said nastily.

  “Should I even bother asking if you were behind that clusterfuck in the hills?” Catherine paused, wanting to hear the answer. It was her ace in the hole.

  “Oh yes,” the witch said absently. “He's mine. And you'll do well to remember that, Catherine Pierce, because he'll do anything I tell him to. Anything. Even bring me your heart in a Fabergé box if I ask.”

  Said heart knocked against Catherine's ribcage. She remembered the witch's cold eyes. The sharpness of his silver blade. She had no doubt the male witch was more than capable of carrying out this task. She just couldn't quite believe that he'd take orders from Karen. Or anyone, really.

  “He's insane,” she said aloud, snarling it to hide the shakiness of her voice. False bravado. An old Predator trick to make one's enemies think one is more formidable than one really is.

  “Best not provoke him, then,” Karen said lightly. “Or me. It would be far too easy.”